


The Pretense of Dancing

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And Enjolras probably knows, He doesn't have any paper but he draws anyway, Jehan crowned him with his headband, Les Amis go to a rave, M/M, and Enjolras actually joins them, and Grantaire is hyperventilating at the makeshift bar, and maybe he's just here for an excuse to reach out, because he's not as dim about this sort of thing as everyone thinks, to touch him under the pretense of dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Years of familiarity with Enjolras’s beauty has made it less of a shock to his senses, but every once in a while it genuinely takes his breath away all over again. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Like now. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Because Jesus Fucking Christ.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pretense of Dancing

Years of familiarity with Enjolras’s beauty has made it less of a shock to his senses, but every once in a while it genuinely takes his breath away all over again. 

Like now. 

Because Jesus Fucking Christ.

He’s long since abandoned his blazer and button-down for a thin white t-shirt that clings to his musculature in the most tantalizing of ways, and Grantaire cannot help but see a Michelangelo - _No, no, a **Bernini**_ \- a _Bernini_ bathed in cerulean light come to life. He knows the comparison would bother Enjolras (And has. Several times.) but he cannot help it. Years of Art History pass before his eyes like a flip book and if Enjolras had any interest at all (he doesn’t) he could  _prove_  to him that he is inspiration incarnate, a muse reborn over and over again through the ages to be chipped from stone, painted on ceilings. All it would take is a quick stroll through the Louvre, but Enjolras would never do such a thing, least of all with him.

_A drop of his shoulder, a subtle roll of his hips..._

Grantaire has never seen him like this before, so supple and sylphlike...

_Lips parted, the lower one bitten briefly, arms above his head, arced like branches..._

He’s spent the last song and a half trying to decide how he wants to capture it, because he _needs_ to capture it...

_Head tilted gently back with a swoop of melody chased by an electronic pulse he echoes again with his hips..._

He thinks, _Simple lines this time_. He thinks, _Black and white this time. A suggestion of the slope of his shoulders, his long neck, those curls and_

“ _Christ_ , that upper lip…” he murmurs and the girl he just met and bought a drink for because why not puts her hand over his heart, her lips to his ear, “Did you say something?” 

_The curve of his Adam’s apple something he wants to trace with his tongue even more than with a pencil, a brush..._

He doesn’t answer and she giggles, she bites his earlobe.

The song melts seamlessly into another, the blue lights shift to white revealing flushed pink cheeks and sweaty curls held in place by the headband Jehan had placed on his head like a medieval circlet, making him look more like Apollo than ever, except _human_... except gloriously gorgeously _human_... and his breath, his heart stutters, his mental sketching skids to a halt as Enjolras’s eyes find his. 

And Grantaire forgets all about Greek Gods, about living sculptures, his own insufficient renderings, because Enjolras does not look away.

He forgets about the girl beside him whose hand is resting very low on his abdomen and he feels cruel because she is not what he wants and he let her think she was because he was lonely and liked the attention.

Enjolras frowns, his eyes sliding down Grantaire’s body and stopping at her hand, her hand that he wants to be his hand...

And he holds it out to him.

It gleams white and then blue and then pink under the swiveling lights and Grantaire nearly swoons at the language of it, those outstretched demanding fingers saying, _Come_. 

He looks at the girl, half afraid that when he turns back Enjolras will not be there, that it was a mirage, or worse, a joke, and he swallows, he says, _"Sorry"_ , he says, _"I have to go"_ , and she blinks in surprise but shrugs a whatever as he steps away and Enjolras is still there, his hand is still there waiting for his and he moves through the crowd, moves like he’s in a dream until fingertips meet fingertips, fingers lacing together, Enjolras pulling him in, pulling him close, palm to palm, and after a moment of just looking at each other, their eyes asking questions that can’t be heard over the music and are too delicate to speak out loud anyway, they begin to sway, they begin to move, neither sure who started it.

And he closes his eyes, and the places where they touch light up and he thinks he has never felt anything so intensely in his life as Enjolras’s skin against his skin and now his mouth, _Christ_ , his mouth is on his _mouth_ and he’s responding, he’s meeting his tongue with his tongue, his hands echoing his hands that slide into his hair and _grip_ and he didn’t take anything, only had one drink but he is so high, he is so drunk and the come down is going to be vicious so he clings tighter, tighter and he swears he hears Enjolras moan, swears he feels it vibrating down his own throat and whoever suggested doing this tonight is a _genius_ and thank God for once Enjolras decided to act his age and come along and maybe that’s all this is, maybe it’s just an experiment to see if he likes it, _being_ his age, because that is exactly something Enjolras would _do_ and maybe he should be hurt but he’d decided a long time ago he would let himself be taken and used however Enjolras wanted, he just never really thought it would ever actually  _happen_.

But it is, it’s happening.

_God, it’s happening...._

He buries his face in the curve of his neck and he draws them in his mind entwined, connected like two halves finally coming together, complete, and it’s going to hurt like hell when the music stops but he doesn’t care he doesn’t care he doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this gifset: http://thestarsjustblinkforus.tumblr.com/post/51967197268/years-of-familiarity-with-enjolrass-beauty-has


End file.
